Imaginary Friend - Stephen Chbosky Page 0,87

the corner is…

The house on the corner is…

David Olson’s house.

Christopher swallowed hard. He knew it could be a trap. It could be a message. The hissing lady could be waiting to ambush him. But the instinct screamed for him to get to his mother at Shady Pines before the sun set.

He began to pedal. He moved up the road quickly, locking into first gear. Once he started pedaling downhill, he snapped the bike into second, then third. He moved faster. Gaining speed. Heading toward the highway. His legs growing stronger and stronger with each rotation as he saw more and more mailbox people lining the street. Twin little girls, an older Asian man, and a Middle Eastern woman who looked skinny from hunger.

Their eyes and mouths were sewn shut.

They were sleepwalking.

For now.

At night, the imaginary world wakes up. And then it gets really scary.

Christopher moved the bike. Faster and faster. At first, he didn’t notice his speed. All he thought about was the fading daylight and his mother at Shady Pines who needed him. But once he looked at the road moving past him in a blur, he couldn’t understand it. The hill wasn’t that steep. The bike wasn’t that light. But he had never gone so fast in his life. He turned onto Route 19. The cars whizzed down the highway on the real side.

And he was riding right next to them.

The pavement whipped by at blinding speed. The freezing air climbed into his eyes, making them water. The power coursed through his legs. Christopher saw an old Mustang up ahead filled with teenagers. He pumped his bike right behind it. Then he pedaled alongside it. Then, he passed the teenagers, pumping his legs as if all their blood were in his veins. Christopher moved the bike off the highway and down the road to Shady Pines. He saw the sun chase the horizon and more mailbox people lining the street.

Like a guardrail.

I don’t have much time.

Christopher hid the bike down the road, then ran the rest of the way to Shady Pines. He looked through the window to make sure he wasn’t walking into a trap. Then, he crept into the old folks home, opening the door with a…

Crrrreak.

He tiptoed down the long hallway. Into the parlor. A nurse played the piano in the corner. The song was Blue Moon. Several of the older people played chess and checkers.

“I found them, Mr. Olson,” a woman’s voice said.

Christopher knew that voice. It was his mother. Christopher turned around. He saw his mother walking up from the basement with a small box.

“They were in storage right where you said they’d be,” his mother said.

Christopher watched his mother walk to Ambrose Olson, sitting in a rocking chair in the parlor. She handed a shoe box to him. The old man took off the lid and pulled up a stack of something wrapped in old white string.

Christmas cards.

A cold breeze moved through the old folks home. Christopher heard some of the older ladies complain to the nurses about the temperature and wrap themselves in their shawls. Christopher saw Ambrose Olson take the first Christmas card out of its envelope. The front of the card was a picture of Santa yelling at Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer:

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FORGOT YOUR GLASSES?!

The room stopped. Christopher watched Ambrose crack open the faded, yellow card. The same card that was left in the white plastic bag.

WHEN YOU CAN’T SEE THE LIGHT…

JUST FOLLOW YOUR NOSE!

And a personal note written in a scrawl…

I’m sorry if I scare you sometimes.

I never mean to.

Merry Christmas

Love, David

P.S. Thank you for the baseball glove. But especially the books.

The nice man wasn’t the one giving him clues.

WHEN YOU CAN’T SEE THE LIGHT…

JUST FOLLOW YOUR NOSE!

David Olson was.

“What is that?” a voice asked. “Did you hear something?”

Christopher looked down the hallway as the hissing lady entered the parlor. David Olson was wrapped around her shoulders like a mink stole. He was her pet. A little demon with two missing front teeth. He was terrifying.

I’m sorry if I scare you sometimes.

I never mean to.

“What lovely handwriting,” Christopher’s mother said.

Merry Christmas

Love, David

P.S. Thank you for the baseball glove. But especially the books.

“Thank you,” Ambrose said, closing the card. “David loved to read.”

Christopher’s heart pounded. He shifted his weight. The floor creaked just a little. The hissing lady turned.

“What is that? Who’s there?” the hissing lady whispered.

She looked right at Christopher, who froze like a deer in headlights.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FORGOT YOUR GLASSES?!

But